


The Importance of Being Clear

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings, Fluff, Love, M/M, Masturbation, PWP, Sherlock Being Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 18:47:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1952142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock have been in a relationship for a while, but Sherlock is not being very clear about his feelings. When John's insecurities start to make him question everything, Sherlock is going to have to pick his words a bit more carefully.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Importance of Being Clear

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe. 
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

They were having a fight. There hadn't been shouting or cross words, but John had slammed the door when he left; that's how Sherlock knew. For sure. He had suspected something was up for a little while now. John was always looking at him expectantly and then disappointedly. He was letting John down somehow, but he didn't mean to. Sherlock was normally so good at reading people, even (or perhaps especially) John. But this time he knew he was missing something and knew that his failing was upsetting John. But what he didn't know was how to fix it. He picked up his phone.

_I'm sorry. SH_

John paused outside of their flat, taking a couple deep breaths before heading towards the park, the best place to walk alone without being bothered. The first time it had happened, John didn't think much of it. Perhaps Sherlock just never had to say it before. But then it continued to happen and John didn't understand why. Was it his way of brushing away sentiment? Was this -- what John considered a relationship -- just a physical need fulfillment for Sherlock? John shook his head, refusing to believe that. But for what other reason would he answer simply 'me too' when John said he loved him? 'Me too' what? He loved himself as well? No -- he was avoiding sentiment. Even with John. His buzzing phone interrupted his thoughts. 

_For what? -JW_

_For the thing that I am doing that you do not want me to do. Or the thing I am not doing that you do want me to do. SH_

_You don't even know what it is, Sherlock. -JW_

_Yet I am still sorry. Because I do not mean to hurt you. SH_

_Tell me what it is. SH_

_I'm going to be home in an hour. -JW_

_I will continue to think then. It would be easier if you told me, but I can see that does not appear to be an option. This must be something I should already know. Yet I do not. SH_

John bit his lip as he stuffed his phone away, feeling a bit guilty. He knew Sherlock wasn't very good with these things, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't do all of the work in this relationship. If that's what it was. He really hoped it was. 

Sherlock sat back in his chair. He scanned through every day since the first day he had met John. He flipped quickly forward to the day they had first kissed. It has been incredibly awkward, he was so bad at opening up, at speaking about or acting upon things he was not certain of and he had definitely not been certain of how John felt. Yet they had kissed, and John had confessed to loving Sherlock and Sherlock said he felt the same. That was a few months ago, and everything had seemed quite pleasing to all involved. But in the last few weeks, John had changed. He still kissed Sherlock, he still told Sherlock he loved him, but he didn't seem to have the same smile when Sherlock responded. What was he doing wrong?  
  
Inside Sherlock lived his deepest fear: that he was not doing anything differently. That he was just being himself as always, and that John had decided this was no longer what he wanted. Sherlock could promise to change but they both knew too well, he would not. So John would leave him, and Sherlock would never know precisely for what he was to blame.

After a while John made his way back to the flat, kicking his shoes off and hanging his jacket. He knew they would have to talk about it, but at least he was calmer now. He had to talk to Sherlock and figure out what exactly their relationship was.

Sherlock hadn't sussed it. He had tried. He had wanted to greet John with a knowing look, saying "I see what the problem is and I will remedy it and you need never slam the door again." But he couldn't say that because he hadn't. He wished John would just say. John was so much better at just saying; Sherlock was the one who had to hide feelings within sharp retorts or long silences. Not John.

John walked into the sitting room and saw Sherlock sitting in his chair. He was nervous suddenly, shifting before sitting on the sofa. 

Sherlock started. "John, I am very good at many things. I know you know this, and your acknowledgement of my strengths is always much appreciated. However, I have weaknesses. Surely you must know this. Can you not acknowledge those as well? You do not say when I let you down. But I know I do. How will I ever be able to stop if I don't know what my failings are? If you can't tell me directly, you will need to give me clues, and I will approach it like I do anything else I am trying to solve. But I need clues. I need something to go on. I clearly cannot figure this one out on my own."

John nodded. "I know, Sherlock. I'm sorry. I should have talked to you instead of bottling it all up and then storming out like that." He wrung his hands nervously. 

"You made me promise to tell you things, promise not to go silent," Sherlock said sadly. "I have tried that, but now you haven't kept that promise." Sherlock knew what was coming: John was done with him. He knew it. He didn't care how pathetic and desperate he might sound. He was sure his heart was breaking.

"What, um . . . how do you see us, Sherlock? This thing we have?" John asked quietly. He hated calling their relationship a 'thing' but he needed to know. 

Sherlock steepled his fingers. He had not expected this question. 'This thing we have' John had said. What did that mean? Is what they have 'a thing'? Sherlock had not thought of it like this, but clearly John had. "'This thing,'" Sherlock said, "is what we are. Have always been. From the first day, we were a team. I wanted to be by you, in your presence, that's what I want now. I trusted you, I trust you now. This flat became our home, it's our home now. And then we kissed and said we loved each other, which didn't change things as much as I had feared it would. It was just the same but nicer, of course. I don't know what noun to use. It's just us, it's our . . . it's my life. That's how I see 'this thing' we have." He put down his hands, but did not look at John.

John opened his mouth and closed it again, completely thrown off by that answer. It was nice . . . much nicer than just saying they were in a relationship, and now he felt bad for ever doubting Sherlock. But there had been one mistake. "Sherlock . . . we didn't say we loved each other. I said I love you and you said . . . you said you loved yourself, too." This sounded silly now that he said it out loud. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. 

"What?" Sherlock asked, surprised. "I cannot imagine I've ever said I loved myself. I still cannot imagine why anyone would love me, I certainly am not going to go around announcing it about myself. I don't understand, John," he said quietly. "I don't understand what I've done wrong."

"I said that I loved you and you . . .you just said 'me too,'" John mumbled. "And I thought it was just the first time, nerves or whatever, but you haven't said it. Ever."

Sherlock thought. He thought and thought, trying to remember every time, which he couldn't, of course. Surely he had said the words 'I love you'? He must have; he did love John. That was what mattered. But then he looked at John, who seemed . . . disappointed and confused. That was not right. Sherlock had caused this, whether he intended to or not. "I didn't realise. . . " he started to say, but stopped. _That_ was the real problem; Sherlock's inability to open up to the way others experienced feelings. Sherlock had assumed John knew everything about how he felt, but clearly John did not.

"I know it's stupid, I'm sorry," John mumbled. "I just thought . . . you were pushing away sentiment again."

Maybe Sherlock should have been angry -- John knew what he was like from the beginning and John had seemed to accept that -- but he couldn't be angry because he felt too relieved. He could change this. It would take a little adjustment, thinking more precisely about his words, but this was hardly a sacrifice if it meant John would not leave him. Sherlock stood up from the chair and walked to the sofa. He knelt down in front of John. "I push away meaningless sentiment, John. Not this. I'm sorry I haven't made myself clearer. I will think more about my words. I promise."

John nodded. "I know . . . I mean, of course I know what you meant but . . ." John shrugged. His insecurities had gotten the better of him. "I'm sorry," John said again.  

Sherlock shook his head. "Let me say I'm sorry, and know this time what I am sorry for." He reached up and held John's hand on his lap. "I love you, John Watson, and, while I will continue to show you in the ways I know how, I am more than happy to tell you with the words you want to hear."

John gripped his hand and met his gaze. "It's very nice to hear," John said quietly. 

Sherlock smiled. Even though he wasn't sure this was the wisest move, he added, "Is there anything else you want to tell me? Anything else you need that I am not giving?"

John shook his head. "I just . . . needed to know that you loved me, Sherlock," he said quietly. It all sounded so silly to him now. "I didn't mean to doubt you."

"I understand," said Sherlock honestly. "But we are having a truth amnesty at the moment, so if there's anything else, now is the time. Remember, you too had promised to not to go silent. If there's something else you haven't told me, you should tell me now. If there is not, then we can move forward."

"We can move forward," John nodded. "I won't bottle anything up again," he promised. 

"Okay," Sherlock smiled, leaned up and kissed John's mouth quickly. "Since you now know I love you and I know that you won't be leaving me, I think we should do something nice to mark the end of this disagreement. Do you have something in mind?" he asked, before adding cheekily, "because I do."

John flushed and smiled. "Do share," he said. 

"Come to the bedroom," Sherlock stood up and put out his hand for John to take. They went to Sherlock's room where he instructed John to lie on the bed on top of the duvet. Sherlock then lay next to him, not touching. "Look straight up," he said, "Not at me." He swallowed and then started: "Now I have seen enough television shows to know that after a fight comes 'make up sex.'" He let the words hang for a moment. "However, since this problem arose from my inability to say exactly what I meant as well as your inability to say exactly what was upsetting you, perhaps we should try the make up sex with words alone."

John followed his instruction and looked up at the ceiling. That was an interesting thought. "Okay," John nodded. 

"Good," Sherlock said, still looking at the ceiling. "I suppose I should start since I caused the issue. So I think I would lean over you, look into your eyes, and gently put my mouth on yours. After I told you again that I loved you, of course."

John smiled. "I would lightly kiss you back once I stopped smiling," he said.

"That's good," Sherlock said, now smiling as well. "When I was kissing you, my tongue would slip into your mouth, looking for yours. At the same time, I use this hand" -- he held up his left hand and hovered it over John's body for a few seconds before bringing it back to his own chest -- "to grasp your right hand and pull it above your head."

"My tongue would, of course, meet yours, and my free hand would come up to your waist," John said.

"I'm not sure about that," said Sherlock. "Perhaps both of your hands should be above your head? Remember, this is different. Unless you'd rather not . . . "

"No, both hands up is fine. I will settle for kissing you a bit harder," John nodded.

"That's agreeable to me," Sherlock said teasingly, "You are right -- things work out so much better when we say what we want. You won't move your hands then? You'll keep them above your head, no matter what?"

"I will do my best," John assured him.

"Good," Sherlock said. "Now let me think. Our mouths are touching as are our tongues. I can touch you with my hands, but you cannot reciprocate. Where shall I touch first?" Sherlock was enjoying this. "I think here," he said holding his hand for a moment over John's neck. "I think I will place my hand around the back of your neck and leave your mouth to lick and suck. The skin there is sometimes salty and I like that," he said. His mouth felt dry.

John licked his lips and nodded. "I'd tilt my head for you, and I'd probably be moaning."

"I like that," Sherlock purred. "I like your sounds, they go straight to my cock. I'd need to press it against your hips then. I'd curl my body so I could get a good angle to rub against you. I'd slide my left hand down to see if you were hard yet. Do you think you're likely to be?"

"Very much so," John whispered. "My hands would be twitching, Sherlock," he said quietly. 

"But it's very good of you to keep them above your head as you promised. I think I'll just rest my hand here," he raised his hand then lowered to John's crotch, keeping it just inches away from his trousers. He could see that John was hard now and Sherlock's cock began to stiffen. "Yes, just rest it here for a while as I continue to rub against you, biting your neck." He let his hand stay there. He swore he could feel the warmth coming off John. "Can you feel my hand on you, John?"

John moaned softly. He closed his eyes and nodded. "I want to touch, too," he added quietly. 

"I don't doubt you do. I'll think about it," Sherlock purred. He moved his hand away from John, and this time placed it on his lap, resting it on his own cock as he imagined he'd have rested it on John's. "If you were to touch, where would it be?"

"Your hair and . . . your hip," John nodded. 

Sherlock made a little moan and slid his hand over to his hip, imagining it was John's. "I think I would allow that," he said. "I love your hand in my hair." He did. He remembered all the times John's hand had been in his hair, and they were all good. They flooded his head. Sherlock felt his hips start rocking slightly. He hoped John wouldn't mind. "I want you to take your clothes off . . . is what I'd say next. I'd have already undone your trousers for you, I'm afraid."

"I would move very quickly to take everything off. You've got me quite excited," John said, smiling. 

"Maybe you should undress now," Sherlock said. "In reality. I mean we'll still use words only, but I think it might be a good thing. It might inspire me."

John glanced over with raised brows but did not argue. He pulled off his jumper and undershirt together, then his trousers, leaving himself in his pants. 

"In for a penny, in for a pound, John," Sherlock said. "Take those off as well. There's nothing you need to hide from me."

John took his pants off as well. "Do I still have to keep my hands up?" he asked, sneaking in a couple light strokes. 

"Hmm . . . " Sherlock pretended to be thinking. "No, during the imaginary make up sex, you may use your hands freely. However, in this world, the world where only words are allowed, you are not allowed to touch . . . me. Okay? Now back to it. I've got your cock in my hand now, John. It's warm and hard but the skin is soft on my palm. I start stroking you. Slowly first. All the way up . . . all the way down."

John gripped himself and mimicked the movement Sherlock was describing. He closed his eyes and moaned loudly. 

"Do you like it when I do that?" Sherlock said. He had taken his own trousers off and was copying John's movements, following his own words. "Soft over the top, but firm up and down. That's how you like it, isn't it?"

John nodded. "Yes . . .," he breathed, his hand moving a bit faster. 

"But not too fast, John. This is going to last a long time. Feel me kiss your lips again. It's a hard kiss, a bit rough on your mouth. I can't get enough of you, John. I want to consume you, I want all of you. I'm on your mouth, John, but then your neck and then your chest. I'm tracing my tongue down your stomach. I can smell you, I can smell the sex on you. I put you in my mouth, John. Tell me what it feels like.

John whimpered and forced his hand do slow down. "It's . . . wet . . . hot and wet," he breathed. "I have to touch your hair again . . ."

"Yes," Sherlock moaned, more to himself than in reply to John. He sunk back into the memories of John's hand in his hair. He loved that, it was something he wouldn't let anyone else in the world do, as intimate as anything he was describing to John right now. He continued to stroke himself, but kept his pace slow to prolong the pleasure without increasing the urgency. "It is wet, John. It's very wet. You can feel the wetness now all over you. I'm licking and sucking, but it's so wet. You can feel it running down between your legs so I lick there as well, taking your balls in my mouth. I'm soft, I'm careful. Now I'm back on your cock, I'm using my tongue for pressure. I've got the base in my hand, John, I'm moving up and down. Your hand's in my hair."

"Sh-Sherlock," John breathed, arching up now but refusing to move his hand faster. "Your mouth always feels so good," he moaned softly. 

"I love doing this, John. I love the way you taste, I love knowing that it's because of me your body's moving like that." Sherlock had accidentally sped up again, and he closed his eyes and tried to relax. "I'm going to swallow you, John. Put a slow, pressure on my head. Not rough. Press on my head, push yourself into my throat."

John threw his head back with a groan. "I'm . . . gripping your hair . . .too tight," John said as he pulled the bed sheet into a tight fist. 

"It's not too tight, John, it hurts a little but it's a good hurt. I can't keep you in my throat very long, but I'll swallow you and then take a breath and swallow and breathe as long as you want me to. It feels different, doesn't it, different to just being in my mouth? Do you like how it feels, John?"

John whined softly. "Yes, it's so . . . good," he breathed, wishing he could feel that for real, feel himself disappear so far into Sherlock's mouth. 

"You're focusing on my mouth, John, but don't forget I've got fingers as well. I'm going to push two into you now. You're still wet everywhere, they'll slide in to you. Get ready to feel them, to feel me inside." Still stroking himself with one hand, Sherlock's other hand reached past his cock and rested between his legs. He was remembering the feel of John's hand there, remembering when John was inside.

"Please . . . Sherlock, please," John pleaded, his hand moving much faster now. "Your fingers . . . I love how deep . . . they go . . . how you stretch me."

"You're right, I'm opening you up, John. Do you know why?"

John couldn't answer. His hand was moving furiously now, tugging at his cock. 

"Because I'm going to fuck you, John. That's what I'd do next. Finally. I think I'd want you on your hands and knees, I'm going to get behind you, John. I've got one hand on your lower back, the other on your hip. I can feel the movement that's building in your body, I can feel that you want to push back onto me, you want me inside of you. I'm guiding myself in, John, I'm going to go slow at first and then hard. I'm going to thrust into you. Tell me if that's what you'd want me to do, John."

"Yes . . . Sherlock, fuck," John moaned. "Please . . . I want . . . you to . . . fuck me hard, please." John flushed at how desperate he sounded, at the sound of his hand beating against his skin as he stroked himself to the images. 

"I'm going to now, John, I'm pushing into you. I'm doing it with words this time, so it's going to be harder than I've done it before. It might even hurt but it'll be a good hurt, like when you pull my hair. I want it to feel good for you, John, because it feels so good to me. I love the feeling of your tightness around me, the feeling of entering you. I'm easing back now for just a minute, you're worried I'm going to stop, it feels like I'm leaving you, but you can still feel me right before I thrust into you again. I'm pulling your hips hard, you're pushing them hard. I'm going to keep fucking you until I come, John. Do you think you'll come along with me?" Sherlock sped up his hand, he could feel himself getting close. The pictures in his head of the words coming out of his mouth were pushing him to the edge, he held his balls and they felt tight. He waited for John's words, he wanted to wait to come to John's voice.

John whined again, so very desperate for these things to actually happen. He wanted Sherlock to turn him around and fuck him into the bed. He was panting and groaning loudly. "I . . . so c-close," John gasped. "Please . . ."

"John," Sherlock cried out, coming into John in the imaginary world and into his hand in the real one.

John groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, calling out for Sherlock as he came all over himself. He was panting heavily and whimpering softly. 

Sherlock rolled over on to his side to face John. "Look at me, John," Sherlock whispered.

John's eyes flew open wide, fixed on the ceiling at first. After a few deep breaths he turned to look at Sherlock, still panting. 

Sherlock put his hand on John's chest, feeling it fall and rise as he tried to catch his breath. "I liked that," he confessed.

John nodded. "Me . . . too," he breathed. 

"I suppose it's good evidence that being very clear about what's going on is definitely beneficial to satisfaction in a relationship," Sherlock said, smiling. He brushed John's cheek with his hand. "I love you." It wasn't so hard to say. It was quite easy actually.

John took a deep breath and forgot to let it out as he heard those words again. It came out very heavily. "I love you, too," he managed after. 

"Good. I like that you do," he leaned over and kissed John's mouth softly.

John happily kissed him back, bringing his hand to Sherlock's cheek. 

Sherlock snuggled into John's body. His skin touched John's skin. He wrapped his arms around him and pressed his head against his shoulder. He wanted every part of him to be touching John. Touching John was comfort, it was home, and Sherlock wanted to sink to sleep touching John and wake up still touching him.

John snuggled back against him, placing his arm over Sherlock's and sighing happily. "We'll have to play that little scene out, now you've put it in my head," he smiled.

"I would be happy, too," Sherlock said. "Why do you think I put it in your head?"

John hummed softly. "Tomorrow though, okay?" he asked pointlessly.

"Tomorrow, yes," Sherlock mumbled. "And the next day. And the day after that."

John smiled as wide as he could in his sleepy state and attempted a nod before drifting off to sleep.

Sherlock let his eyes close. He said once more into John's back, "I love you." Because he did. And then he fell to sleep.


End file.
